The Carsons revisited
by kouw
Summary: It's a fanfic of a fanfic! Hogwarts Duo has written many amazing stories, amongst which 'The Carsons', which is one of my alltime favourite fics. To thank her for the encouragement she has given me the past two years and to repay some of her kindnesses, I have written this fic: a three parter, two parts K and one part M. I hope you will all enjoy!


**A/N1:** Before you start this, read (part of) 'The Carsons' by Hogwarts Duo, for this is a tribute to that fic (copy paste the link: /s/8688308/1/The-Carsons )

* * *

**part 1 ; reminisces**

He looks so contented, she thinks as she watches him from her place on the settee. He is in his chair by the fire, holding his newest granddaughter, a babe of six weeks. It will do Elisabeth good to have a bit of time to herself. She can have a bath, an actual conversation with her husband.

The first time she saw Charles sitting so relaxed and happy like this was when their girl had just been born. In hindsight the pregnancy was an uneventful one, but it was special nonetheless. They'd not been married very long before she noticed there was a little one on the way. She had been quite apprehensive to tell him, worried he'd be upset with her. Instead he doted on her, tried to take every little task from her until she was so fed up with him, she broke into tears from frustration and Beryl Patmore had to interfere.

Elisabeth had been fussier than her granddaughter who is a 'good' baby. The newborn looks much like her Charlie had - a shock of wild hair, long lashes, little fists ready to fight. She is very beautiful. All her babies had been very beautiful indeed and now her grandchildren are. She sees something of Charles in all of them, in some she sometimes even sees herself.

"Daydreaming again, Mrs Carson?" His voice softly rumbles through the room.

"Reminiscing." She answers and gets up from the settee to settle on the armrest of his chair, leaning against him. She softly pets the baby's hair.

He puts his free arm around her waist. "About what?"

"I remember you saying that one day we'd have a neverending throng of grandchildren to babysit."

"Did I?"

"Yes, we talked about Edward being such a big reader and how you hoped he would walk in your footsteps. You joked that he would one day marry a housekeeper and have a boy and a girl."

"Well, I was almost right, they have a boy."

"You were right about the neverending throng of babies." Elsie leans against her husband and plants a kiss on his brow. Since retirement it's no longer slicked back with pommade. At times there's this unruly curl - that used to be for her eyes only, late at night, after making love or early in the morning when just waking up - that falls over his forehead. He is still the handsomest of men and she is aware of how lucky she is to have such a happy marriage, such a fulfilling life.

The baby stirs. Charles removes his arm from her hip and cradles the child in his strong arms.

"We were going to sleep in everyday and never leave the bed when it's cold. I remember." He speaks softly, trying to refrain from disturbing the baby.

"Hmm. I don't think we've managed that more than three times." Elsie replies, kissing his brow, running the back of her finger over his smooth cheek.

"We're used to early rising."

"A life in service and four babies will do that to a person I guess." Elsie smiles at her husband, gently fingering the soft hair in his neck.

"Yes, we were very lucky."

"Indeed." She leans over. They kiss, the baby safely tucked in his grandfather's arms. They do not notice the door.

"Ahem." A voice behind them startles the pair.

They break apart reluctantly. "I remember that we taught you to knock before entering our room." Elsie doesn't look away from her husband's face, smiles warmly at him.

"All these things we've tried so hard to teach and so few things that seem to have stuck." He mutters and kisses her again.

"Terrible parents we were."

"Dreadful."

"That's enough you two." Elisabeth shakes her head at the picture before her. Her parents looking like newlyweds, her baby sleeping, one balled fist close to her mouth. "I've come to relieve you of your duties and to fulfill mine."

"Sit down, I'll get you a cuppa. You need to keep your strength up." Elsie pops off the armrest and squeezes her daughter's shoulder in passing. Her girl is looking better, a bit more rested. While she busies herself with the kettle and a tin of biscuits (Beryl will never forgive her if she finds out Elsie bought biscuits from the village bakery instead of making them herself from the recipe she had received as a retirement gift) she can hear her eldest and her husband converse.

Elisabeth had been her first. A fussy baby. She had written up the fussiness to being inexperienced as a mother and took in stride. Lis had been afraid of thunder, the dark, monsters under the bed. She was almost three when they found that Charlie was on the way and she remembers that one particular night when she had told Charles: a storm had been brewing, thunder and lightning duelling all night long.

This time they had spoken about having another child, that perhaps it was time to give their Elisabeth a playmate. Elsie remembers fondly how they had sat at her desk, had pulled up their personal ledger - the one with their earnings and expenses, where she had a list of her dreams and hopes for the future - and had calculated meticulously when they would be able to afford another little one.

Nonsensical really - she now knows that where there is space and to spare for one, there is space for two. But after her shock of falling pregnant for the first time, she wanted to be better prepared. They counted days and found a perfect window. Looking back she can still pinpoint the night she (probably) conceived Charlie: the night before Charles had to leave for the Season.

It had been the perfect 'welcome home' present when he returned.

Charlie and Elisabeth had been perfect together. A girl and a boy, each named after a parent, the sunshine of her life. She had worked hard - the life of a Housekeeper was one of supervision, of always being the one to reprimand, always the one to know everything, often before people knew themselves - and made long days, but her family had been a wonderful distraction from work, her precious reward. All of them made her feel like there was more to her than just jangling keys at her hip and a finger to point out dust. Seeing her little ones play and comfort each other had sparked in her the wish for another baby.

Her last it would be and it would make her family whole and complete.

Of course after Edward she had gotten pregnant with Victoria and it had been a startling discovery and she panicked. Going out in the snow, slipping, falling and hitting her head, it had been a terribly foolish thing to do. Thankfully it all ended with nothing more than a nasty bump and a bit of a headache. These days Elsie thinks it's probably because of her sudden run into the storm is why Victoria can be so rambunctious and loves the cold so much.

The kettle sings and Elsie makes the tea. She carries the tray into the parlour, setting it down next to her husband and sits next to Elisabeth on the settee.

"How's my girl?" Elsie asks, taking her daughter's hand in hers.

"I'm well. For the most part. Tired of course, like you told me and Vic did and I always knew. But you don't actually _know_ until it's reality, do you."

"Very true." Elsie pulls her hand away to pour the tea and she hands her daughter a cup and saucer, a biscuit balancing precariously on the edge.

"I don't know how you must have done it, caring for all of us while working so many hours."

Elsie steals a glance at her husband, who winks at her.

"I had great help in your father and of course you were all absolutely wonderfully behaved."

They all laugh and the baby mewls softly.

"I think she is not best pleased with her granddad right now, Charles. You shouldn't rumble so." Elsie admonishes with a little smirk.

"Don't listen to Mum." Elisabeth puts her cup on the table and quickly bites into her biscuit before getting up and taking her daughter. "She just needs a feeding."

* * *

**part 2 ; memories**

"I'm coming to live with you." The young girl stated, putting her small wicker basket on the floor next to the sofa.

"I say, how fun." Elsie replied before kneeling next to her granddaughter to retrieve whatever was in the basket. She pulled out a crumpled nightgown, a teddy (a gift from Charles when the bairn had come into the world), a packet - half-full - of currants and a tattered book of fairytales.

"I can sleep on the sofa and I won't be any trouble."

"Alright." Elsie nodded again. "May I enquire as to why you have suddenly decided to come and live with your granddad and me? Not that we are not happy to have you, of course."

The little girl looked at the floor, suddenly finding her feet very interesting.

"Come on." She held out her hand after getting up (which was getting a bit harder every year, she blamed endless scrubbing as a young girl, though of course it could just be age, but she refused to think so) and took her granddaughter to the kitchen where she poured a glass of milk and put some biscuits on a plate.

"Sit here, petal." She set everything down on the kitchen table. "I'll find your grandfather and we'll discuss you coming to live with us. We'll need to figure out which chores you'll do and who will take you to school and what your bedtime should be."

Abigail sighed deeply and took a gulp of milk.

In the living room Elsie sat down on the settee, slightly bewildered. Her granddaughter - one of Charlie's twins - was all of five years old and had walked to the cottage alone. Of course it was quite safe, there was very little traffic and they had walked the route a hundred times before, but still. For once Elsie wished she had a telephone so she could call her son. Charles was in the garden, puttering about, whistling. She got up and ticked her wedding ring against the window, startling him. She beckoned him to come in and he put down his tools.

"Abi is here and she says she has come to live with us." Elsie didn't beat around the bush.

"Why?"

"I don't know. She won't say."

"Charlie will be worried."

"Perhaps you should pop over to the shop?" Elsie queried and Charles shrugged.

"They probably try us first when they notice she's gone missing."

As the words left his mouth, a frantic knock on the door echoed through the cottage. Elsie smiled at her husband and went to open the door. She found her son, his wife and her grandson all standing on the steps.

"Is she here?" Charlie asked.

"Yes. In the kitchen." Charlie walked past his mother into the kitchen and Elsie ushered Margaret and her grandson into the living room.

"Granddad!" Davy exclaimed and crawled on top of his grandfather's knees and demanded a sweetie, which Charles obligingly pulled from his pocket. Elsie shook her head at the sight of it.

"Do you want a cup of tea, Margaret? You must have been worried sick." The poor girl looked rather peaky.

"No, thank you." The words came in quick succession and then Margaret clenched her lips together, closing her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply.

Elsie's heart skipped a beat.

Now it all made sense. But she'd let them tell her in their own good time - they always did, even if she always knew. There was very little that would get past her and if it did, it was because she was distracted (something that happened more and easily these days, with her husband so closeby, so readily available).

She sat down next to her daughter-in-law and put her hand on the girl's knee for a moment. "It's always such a shock to find they've gone wandering off. Usually Charlie would be in the stables, Edward in the library, but both Elisabeth and Victoria were very proficient at making themselves scarce."

Margaret nodded. She swallowed a few times before speaking. "I noticed she had taken her book. Only so many places she could be."

"Glad Abi came to us, I don't want to think what would have happened if she had really wandered off." Charles voice boomed and Davy chuckled as he held his ear against his grandfather's chest, his cheek pressed into the cotton.

"That sounds funny!"

Elsie looked away. This was not the time to start a flirtation, telling Charles Carson that the rumbling from deep within his chest is one of the things she likes so much about him. Thankfully the door opened and a pale, weepy Abigail stepped into the room, followed by her father, who was wearing a worried frown.

"Now, go to your mummy and tell her how sorry you are." He said, gently chiding.

Abigail shuffled towards the settee and mumbled something that could have been interpreted as 'sorry' to her mary janes.

"But why did you run away?" Margaret asked, running her hand over the loose curls of her daughter. Abigail mumbled again, inaudible.

"You can tell me, darling." Margaret shuffled a bit towards the armrest so there was a bit of space for Abigail to sit. "Come here. Tell me. I promise I won't be cross."

"I'll no longer be your baby." Abi blurted out in between deep, heaving sobs. Margaret looked rather alarmed and pulled her daughter into her arms, holding her tight.

"You will always be my baby and so will Davy. There is nothing to worry about. Do you really think I would love you any less?" Abigail nodded vehemently.

"I won't. I promise you I won't. I will still braid your hair at night and I will still make you cacao in the morning. I'll still hold your hand when we go into the village. I'll tuck you in and read you a story. Truly, Abi. Nothing will ever change how much I love you."

Everyone was looking at Margaret and Abigail, quietly. Elsie and Charles changed a look of understanding.

"We had planned to tell you differently." Charlie started.

"It's no matter. No matter at all." Elsie hopped off the sofa and embraced her boy, still sitting in his chair, but so tall. "Congratulations. We are so happy for you."

Charles got up from his seat too, Davy clinging to him like a little monkey and he shook hands with his oldest boy. "Congratulations, son. We hope things will go well."

Charlie smiled. "So do we." He said, looking at his wife and daughter.

"Abi, why don't you sit with me for a bit so I can tell you a story." Elsie opened her arms and Abi crawled into her lap. Margaret excused herself, running to the bathroom.

"Once upon a time, your granddad and I had three children: your auntie Lis, your daddy and Uncle Edward. We were all very happy and we lived at Downton Abbey - do you know where that is?" Abi pointed somewhere in the distance, cuddling up closer, her head against the softness of her grandmother's chest.

"Well, we found out that we would have another baby and Granddad and I were very happy. But Uncle Edward was very cross and worried, just like you. He thought that he would no longer be special to us. No longer the small one. But you know what?"

Abigail shook her head.

"It all worked out fine. When Auntie Vic was born, everyone was very excited and there was always a bit of time to spare for each of our children and plenty of love to go around. We love all our babies and your mummy was quite right: every baby is special and so all our children are special. You might even help your mummy when the baby comes! You can help bathing the baby, that is always great fun and you can cuddle it. Maybe you can help me make the baby a new blanket, like the one I made you."

"I would like that." Abi said and yawned. "I'm so tired…" She said and closed her eyes. When Margaret returned, Charles and Davy went to make tea and Abigail fell asleep against her grandmother.

"It's been an emotional day." Charlie said.

"I can imagine. But how wonderful for you. You will tell us when you need help, won't you? Or when Meg does. She doesn't have her own mother to call upon and you must press upon her that she does call me or one of the girls."

"I will."

"The house will be filled to the brim for Christmas." Elsie sighed happily. "Just like I always hoped it would be."

* * *

**part 3 ; traditions**

The wind is howling around the cottage, the rain clattering against the window. Charles has left the curtains drawn, saying they could see the snow fall from the bed, but of course this Christmas won't be white. It hardly ever is. It's of no consequence. The children will come around at eleven and the little ones will help decorate the tree. Beryl will help her with Christmas lunch, heavens bless her. The table will be too small for everyone to fit.

Then when the decorating is done and the food is well underway, the children will see what Father Christmas has brought them and the adults will all exchange their gifts too. It's a good thing she starts her Christmas shopping in the spring - there are so many people to think of these days. Her four children and their spouses, the grandchildren (more and more each year, filling her house to the brim with the joy they bring), their dear friends from Downton.

Christmas morning however, is especially reserved for a very different tradition. A Charles and Elsie Carson Christmas tradition they have started the very first year they were married. In all the years they have been married, they only missed this tradition once.

Elsie snuggles up closer to her husband, who is still sleeping and gently jostles him.

"Charles? Charles, wake up, dearest." She purrs close to his ear.

"It's Christmas, time to unwrap your present!" She kisses his cheek, jostling him again, pressing herself against him.

"Charles?" Normally it doesn't take so long for him to wake up, especially not when she is offering herself so blatantly. She shakes him a bit more violently.

"Charles?" Her voice is streaked with panic. "Charles!" She lays her hand flat on his chest and feels him breathe steadily.

"What?" Charles mumbles, his voice laced with sleep and irritation.

"Good God, man, I thought…" Elsie cannot finish the sentence.

"What?" He asks again, opening his arms to her and pulling her close. Elsie sniffles a few times before pulling herself together. How silly of her to think anything could be wrong. They are young still, and strong. Or perhaps not so very young, but not old.

"It's Christmas." She whispers against the cotton of his nightshirt.

"Ah, yes. My favourite day of the year." Charles plants kisses in her hair and rubs his eyes with his free hand while the other softly strokes her back.

"Your favourite?" She asks, thankful for the moment's respite he is giving her, the time she needs to recover from the dreadful thoughts that flashed before her when he didn't wake instantly.

"Hmm. Getting the tree the day before so the house smells lovely of pine when we go downstairs, though that's only been a recent addition to the list of things to love about Christmas." He pulls up his shoulders, rolls his head from side to side. Elsie looks up and nestles against him, still fitting perfectly in the slopes and curves.

"Sleeping in, being woken by the most beautiful girl in the world. Then our little tradition, after which we'll dress at our leisure. The house filling with the smells of a wonderful lunch, the sounds of the voices of our friends and our children mingling."

"I'm not a girl anymore and I think our tradition is not very little at all."

"Why Mrs Carson, you managed to make that sound a little risque." He chuckles and she tilts her head back, waiting for him to kiss her and he doesn't disappoint. His lips are soft against hers, his strong arms pull her closer. Her hands unbutton his nightshirt of their own accord, the years and years of practice having become second nature.

His kisses are passionate and a tiny bit sleepy, giving her the feeling of indulging in a sublime luxury. His hand travels from her back to her bum and grasp her nightdress, pulling it up and up, revealing her bare bottom to him. He squeezes the flesh, provoking a deep moan and her pressing herself against him even firmer.

Her hand runs through his chest hair - white now, but still curly and soft, just like it had been that very first Christmas, when they had made love at the crack of dawn. It had still been so new then - they were discovering new delights at every turn and she had been so pleased to find that it had not been something 'to endure', but to take pleasure in.

Even now, so many years later, she still thoroughly enjoys Charles attentions. She likes how he kisses a way from her cheek to her neck and how he turns her so his hands get tangled in her nightdress. She likes how he still groans in frustration and his gasp of appreciation when she pulls it over her head, showing herself to him. Over the years her body has become less firm, her skin is not as tight and elastic as it had been all those Christmases ago, but it has served her well.

It's walked endless miles through corridors of a house that wasn't her own, she has climbed an Everest of stairs ten times over. It has carried her children within her and suckled them and it's given her pleasure in numerous ways. Charles' fingers gently run down her sides and she pushes away the blankets, straddles him. She's been awake so long, has waited such long moments for him to wake up, anticipated their coupling for a good forty-five minutes. She rubs herself over him - she is not surprised to find him naked under his shirt, traditions are such because of the details.

He comes to life under her, quickly hardening and she gasps when she rides him just so. She takes a deep, shuddering breath and lowers herself over him, reveling in the feeling of him inside her, still exciting her after all these years.

They are perfect together.

She rises and falls, the rain still clattering against the window. His hands are at her hips, they are taking their time. Nobody will come knocking on their door for hours yet, there are no children who might come rushing in. They have all the time in the world to enjoy each other.

Charles pulls her towards him, kisses her, whispers the naughtiest things in her ear. Words that make her blush like a young girl and she catches his earlobe between her lips, traces the shell with the tip of her tongue. Her breasts push against his chest and he rolls them over, settling between her legs.

She wraps herself around him, her legs circling his waist, her hands clasped together behind his neck. He knows exactly how to enter her again - and again - how to kiss her temple, how to palm her breast, how to tenderly run his hand over her cheek, her chin, the base of her throat.

They are equal, always, but she enjoys him being dominant here, in this moment. To feel small beneath him and protected. To be safe in his love, his care. She arches her back as he hits her just _there_, time after time. She moans - which is new, there is no longer any need to hold back and it's added a lovely new dimension to their lovemaking - and bites her lip. She is so close, but she doesn't want it to be over.

They are both perspiring, she has let go of his neck and is grabbing the sheet in clenched fists, telling him to stop making her wait, wantonly thrashing about beneath him, his hand heavy on her hip, steadying her, his pants echoing through the room.

She opens her arms wide and he falls to her breast. She cradles him as they move slowly, her knee pulled up almost under his arm, her foot poking his bum. She kisses him repeatedly, murmuring words of love and devotion. He holds her close, kisses her back, returns her words of love. He names her the secret name he has for her and she smiles.

Her eye falls on the alarm on the nightstand and she is a bit shocked to see it's much later than she thought and she rocks under him, urging him on, putting back the fire in their act. He raises himself on his elbows and thrusts, swiftly, deeply and she mewls almost. The pleasure is starting to become overwhelming and she encourages him.

It's not long before she shatters under him, his thumb at the top of her folds and he crumbles soon after, deep within her, another joyful new things that came with age. The cottage is the place where they can be totally carefree and they've been taking advantage of it at every turn.

She lays next to him, curled up and sated. "Happy Christmas, my dearest darling…" she says, her voice broken from her outcry.

"Happy Christmas, my true love."

* * *

**A/N2: **Thank you, Hogwarts Duo, for your encouragement, your wonderful writing and for sharing your kindness and happiness. I doubt you know how much it has meant to me over the past two years. This is my way of saying 'thank you' for your support and encouragement. You are truly wonderful.


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